Could I on such mean thoughts my Muse employ, I want a mistress or a blooming boy." Thus I complain'd: his bow the stripling bent, And chose an arrow fit for his intent. He said too well, alas, he knows his trade; While in unequal verse I sing my woes. BOOK I, ELEGY IV To his mistress, whose husband is invited to a feast with them. The poet instructs her how to behave herself in his company. YOUR husband will be with us at the treat; While his lewd hand descends below the board? Now wonder not that Hippodamia's charms, At such a sight, the Centaurs urg'd to I am not half a horse, (I would I were,) Yet hardly can from you my hands forbear. Take, then, my counsel; which, observ'd, may be Of some importance both to you and me. Be sure to come before your man be there: There's nothing can be done; but come howe'er. Sit next him, (that belongs to decency,) But tread upon my foot in passing by. Read in my looks what silently they speak, And slyly, with your eyes, your answer make. 20 My lifted eyebrow shall declare my pain; My right hand to his fellow shall complain, And on the back a letter shall design, As suppliants use at altars, hold the board, Whene'er you wish the devil may take your lord. When he fills for you, never touch the cup, But bid th' officious cuckold drink it up. The waiter on those services employ: Drink you, and I will snatch it from the boy; Watching the part where your sweet mouth has been, 40 And thence, with eager lips, will suck it in. Your tender cheek upon his hairy breast. I shall thrust in betwixt, and void of fear What you conceal beneath your petticoat. Take not his leg between your tender thighs, Nor, with your hand, provoke my foe to rise. How many love-inventions I deplore, cast. 60 You to your husband shall not be so kind; But, lest you should, your mantle leave behind. Encourage him to tope; but kiss him not, Nor mix one drop of water in his pot. 81 He locks you in; I follow to the door, And whate'er fortune shall this night be- Coax me to-morrow, by forswearing all. ALEXANDER'S FEAST OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC; AN ODE IN HONOR OF ST. CECILIA'S DAY [Dryden wrote this greatest of his lyric poems for the celebration of the Feast of St. Cecilia (November 22), 1697: compare note, p. 252, above. It was first set to music by Jeremiah Clarke; next, in 1711, by Thomas Clayton; finally, in 1736, by Handel (Malone, I, 1, 296–307). It was published as a folio pamphlet in 1697, and was reprinted in the volume of Fables, 1700. In a letter to Tonson, written about the close of 1697, Dryden says: "I am glad to heare from all hands, that my Ode is esteem'd the best of all my poetry, by all the town: I thought so my self when I writ it; but being old, I mistrusted my own judgment. I hope it has done you service, and will do more (Malone, I, 2, 63).] I Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain; Fought all his battles o'er again; And thrice he routed all his foes; and thrice he slew the slain. The master saw the madness rise; He sung Darius great and good, Fallen from his high estate, Deserted, at his utmost need, 70 80 With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, Revolving in his alter'd soul The various turns of chance below; And, now and then, a sigh he stole; And tears began to flow. CHORUS Revolving in his alter'd soul The various turns of chance below; And, now and then, a sigh he stole ; And tears began to flow. V The mighty master smil'd, to see Never ending, still beginning, 90 100 Take the good the gods provide thee." TO MR. GRANVILLE, ON HIS EXCELLENT TRAGEDY CALL'D HEROIC LOVE [Heroic Love, a tragedy by George Granville, based on the story of Briseis in the Iliad, was probably first acted in 1697; it had great success on the stage (Downes). Dryden's epistle, with heading as above, was printed with the first edition of the play, which was published on February 19, 1698 (Malone, I, 1, 310, on the authority of an advertisement in the London Gazette). Granville, who was created Lord Lansdowne in 1711, is known in literature as the friend of Pope as well as of Dryden.] AUSPICIOUS poet, wert thou not my friend, How could I envy, what I must commend! But since 't is nature's law, in love and wit, That youth should reign, and with'ring age submit, With less regret those laurels I resign, Which, dying on my brows, revive on thine. With better grace an ancient chief may yield The long contended honors of the field, Catch at a peace, and wisely turn devout. age Can best, if any can, support the stage; |